


The Moon is our only constant

by NanousBlues



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Hurt!Stiles, Mating, Multi, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, OCs - Freeform, Post Season 2, The Alpha Pack, past Scott McCall/Allison Argent - Freeform, shifting pov
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-06
Updated: 2013-01-06
Packaged: 2017-11-23 23:02:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/627473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NanousBlues/pseuds/NanousBlues
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"They have around two hours left before Deaton should arrive from Sacramento International Airport with the twins. Derek seems to think it’s enough time for a debriefing about correct protocol when welcoming new and strange pack members and preparing a suitable lunch for the pack and their guests but Stiles has a fuckton of questions and the most important one is “why the hell did you give me what seems to be a cross between ‘The Gamma’s diaries’ and a Hale casebook?” He doesn’t formulate it quite like that and the answer (“because you like researching”) is not highly satisfying."</p><p>Or the one in which Dr Deaton entrusts Derek with his niece and nephew's safety, Stiles is oblivious of his place in the pack and gets hurt, the Alpha pack is The Big  Bad and Peter isn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Moon is our only constant

**Author's Note:**

> First fic in this fandom... Wish me luck.
> 
> I had this grand series in head, some apocalyptic Supernatural crossover, but I realized while writing it that it was mostly unfeasable due to my lazyness and very slow writing. So, I castrated the plot bunnies and put them into individual cages. I hope it'll be readable enough this way.
> 
> Non-betaed, all mistakes are my own and all that jazz.  
> It's, of course, just a fiction and the characters are all MTV's property.

Stiles is not sure why he is still standing here, in the newly renovated Hale house’s kitchen, listening to a conversation he really wishes he could either understand or not witness at all and be given the report translation and Cliff-notes afterwards. He usually is extremely – read deathly – curious and nosy, more so when Dr Deaton has come into the Alpha werewolf’s house with the simple but determined “I need your help” as a way of introduction for his unannounced presence when two days ago he had sent Scott and Isaac home from work saying that he had to close the office because of a family emergency. But he is hungry, exhausted and in desperate need of a shower after an afternoon repainting Derek’s living room with the rest of what somehow qualifies now as Derek’s pack, minus Lydia (because God forbid that she does any physical labor). The only thing preventing him from leaving is the fact that he made the stupid move to go into the kitchen when everyone followed the Alpha and the veterinarian into the room. Now Isaac and Jackson are involuntarily blocking his exit by leaning against the doorframe.  He could push past them, probably, earning himself just a growl from Jackson, he realized weeks ago that after his resurrection as a functional proper werewolf, the jock is now all barks no bite – funny what being put in his place at the bottom of wolf pack rank and accepting it could do to a previously killing lizard. Or he could ask them to let him pass, and they probably wouldn’t bat an eyelash at him and free the way, but something in his gut is telling him to shut up and stay put. Something, probably Peter’s presence in the room (because there is no way the day will come when he’ll be at ease in Peter’s presence), is screaming at him to not attract attention of any sort and therefore, make as little noise as possible. Or he is just too exhausted to make a move. Yeah, probably the latter since his self-preservation instinct has never been real effective.

 

“How are they still alive?” Derek asks, voice hoarse but face blank, in the middle of Deaton’s tale.

 

“The other pack obviously wasn’t thorough on their investigations before they attacked. They didn’t know there were gammas in the Fillan pack. They thought the twins were humans.” Deaton answered and then picks up, composed as ever, the interrupted thread of his story.

 

When the doc seems to be finished, Derek lets escape something between a whine and a grunt and then says, “I don’t know if it’s a good idea. I can’t assure you they’ll be safe with me,” and, _woah_ but, isn’t that an incredible show of vulnerability – and therefore trust – for the Alpha to admit to not being almighty before the pack and an outsider, what an improvement, humanly – human _ish_ ly – wise. It certainly counts as progress for Derek and the pack that he didn’t just frown the veterinarian to death then said ‘no’ while leaving the room. “There’s an Alpha pack roaming around.”

 

Judging by the sharp intake of breath and the startled look on Deaton’s face, the good doctor didn’t see this one coming.

 

“That… That doesn’t change much. They can’t survive without a pack and you’re the only _slightly_ operative one around. It doesn’t have to be permanent, but until I can localize a bigger pack, you’re my … our only hope.” Several snorts from around the room echo; Derek glares.

 

Stiles doesn’t understand much about this conversation, but at least he is fairly sure that it is Deaton’s way of begging. And isn’t that another slap in the face. The guy is usually so poised and _shit_ , he managed to keep his composure all along his story of how his in-law family slash pack of werewolves (bugger!) has been decimated. Hell, he is the one they usually beg for help, not the other way around. There is an intense staring contest going on now between Deaton and Derek before the doctor lowers his gaze and sighs.

 

“I know I’m not bringing much on the table and in the state they’re in, they’ll probably be more trouble than asset, but if I’m not wrong, you’ve lost two wolves recently,” Deaton finally adds and Derek growls shortly, but somberly, at the mention of Erica and Boyd but Deaton keeps on undisturbed, “They’re not a match for two betas, but they’ll still add some power if you take them, even temporarily.”

 

 _‘They’_ , if Stiles has it right, are Deaton’s niece and nephew. Apparently, Deaton’s sister had, years ago, married a werewolf and joined his pack in Ireland. Said pack got attacked a few days back – _why?_ Stiles zoned out at that moment in the monologue and missed the info if it’s been given – and the result is Deaton now being the only relative alive to a couple of twin kid werewolves, Deaton called them ‘gammas’, whatever that may be, in need of a pack. Stiles is not sure about the details and his head has started to hurt probably due to the paint thinner he was forced to breathe in all afternoon.

 

“I’ll owe you.”

 

Derek looks more pained than conflicted and Stiles already knows he is going to accept because a couple of traumatized kid wolves after their entire family has been wiped out rings too close to home for him not to take them under his Alpha wing – _paw?_

 

“Do they still talk?” Peter interrupts for the first time since they entered the kitchen.

 

And WHAT?

 

“No.”

 

“Will they, ever again?” Derek enquires, visibly understanding, contrary to Stiles and the betas, what the heck Uncle Creepy Zombie and Dr Shaman are talking about.

 

“The girl probably not. The boy might.”

 

“Did they let them the hounds?” Peter keeps on without pause.

 

And WHAT? WHAT?

 

“One. The boy’s one has been killed.”

 

Okay, Stiles has had enough, if he is stuck here, he wants it to make sense. And he knows he isn’t the only one to be completely lost. If the others have to stay quiet for some unspoken order, he, the human, doesn’t have to follow up. And fuck self-preservation, he really, really has to make noise and movement or the stillness might kill him.

 

“Wait a minute! What the fuck are you talking about and what the fuck is going on here? Because if some new kids are going to join the pack, we,” Stiles makes a wild flailing around his head to point at Scott, Isaac and Jackson gathered in the large kitchen, “could at least do with a short summary, before you gift us with the complete handbook, of what exactly is a ‘gamma’ and why are you talking about hounds and do we have to learn ASL now?”

 

Derek manages to glare, frown, sigh and exhale an exasperated “Stiles!” all at once. Impressive, but not what Stiles wants to hear.

 

“Explain!” He shouts at Derek. Oh God, if looks could kill – and by looks he means blazing red angry glares, of course. “Please?”

 

Derek sighs the sigh of the defeated and gestures to Peter, because he used his quota of words per day already and drawing from tomorrow’s pool is probably deathly to brooding Alphas.

 

“Gammas are a rare type of werewolves, because they can only be born and never bitten. And they’re only born within a powerful and stable pack, usually an old one with a familial structure.” Peter pauses as if reflecting on what he just said or what else he could say.

 

“And … ?” _Why? How are they different from others? Why would they not talk? What about the hounds? Where does they rank within a pack? Why are they not a match for a beta? Did the Hales have one of those gammas before the fire?_ Stiles makes an impatient rolling gesture with his hand instead of asking all the questions that flood his mind.

 

“They cannot turn at will like other werewolves and though they look mostly human they’re much more close to their wolf side. When they’re hurt or go through a traumatizing event, they shut down their human side. There are different stages, but the first one is to stop talking. They can completely stop to use human’s ways of communication and as you can imagine, that’s extremely … problematic.” _Feral_. Stiles is pretty sure that’s what Peter means and his heart hammers while Peter pauses again to look at Deaton questioningly.

 

“They’re not at this extreme,” the doc is quick to reassure but doesn’t offer more information.

 

“Is it the first time?” Derek asks, frown in place.

 

“No. When my,” Deaton swallows painfully, looks at his hands and takes a breath before continuing, “when their mother died, a few years ago, they stopped communicating. The boy, Alec, recovered quickly. He’s always been more outgoing. But Anna, the girl, she had shut down completely and it took weeks for her to start to just nod her head for ‘yes’ or shake for ‘no’. She actually never spoke again, but she eventually used some sign language.” The doc takes a shaky breath again and Stiles really admires how he doesn’t break down and cry, because Stiles didn’t know them and he already feels his eyes burn with unshed tears and his throat tighten, but that again could also be the effect of the paint thinner. “Alec should recover again. Ironically, the bullet he took to the head saved him. They thought him dead, or about to die, left him alone, I guess. He didn’t see what happened. Anna was conscious for all of it.” Deaton looks apologetically at Derek and the Alpha tightens his jaw but doesn’t say anything.

 

“So we do need to learn ASL.” Stiles mutters to break the somber atmosphere. “What about this hounds thing?” he directly asks Peter, since he was the one to mention it and seems the only one to be, if not eager, at least forthcoming with general information.

 

“Don’t be ridiculous, Stiles. They’re Irish, why would they use American Sign Language? As for the hounds, traditional Irish packs pair up their human members and eventual gammas with large dogs, Irish wolfhounds nowadays,”

 

“Oh! I know this breed! They’re like giant dogs!” Scott interrupts to yap happily. Everybody ignores him and Stiles rolls his eyes. Show-off.

 

“For protection,” Peter answers the question Stiles is about to ask, “they train them to recognize werewolves outside of the pack.”

 

“Neat. I should get one! But why the gammas too?”

 

“Because, their senses are highly underdeveloped compared to other werewolves. They’re slightly better than human’s dull ones but not much more. And they can’t defend themselves, they’re not strong enough.” For the sake of obtaining more information’s, Stiles makes a conscious effort to ignore the insult towards his _normal_ human senses.

 

“Wait a minute. If they don’t turn, which I guess means no claws nor fangs, don’t have _hyper-_ developed senses and don’t have super strength, what makes them even werewolves? Are you sure they’re not just humans with higher than average PTSD tendencies?” _Which seems incredibly dumb since they live amongst werewolves._ Stiles keeps the last bit for himself because he’s not an insensitive jerk and they’re talking about Deaton’s niece and nephew who just lost their entire pack. Well, considering, he may have been an insensitive jerk with the ‘higher than average PTSD tendencies’ bit. Oops.

 

“I didn’t say they don’t turn and you’re forgetting about the healing power.” Peter smirks.

 

“Damn! The frigging healing! I always forget about the healing! But you did say they don’t turn.”

 

“At will. I said they couldn’t turn at will.”

 

“Oh.” Stiles says and forgets to close his mouth afterward. It happens more than he’d like.

 

Derek snorts, so Stiles narrows his eyes menacingly, well, as menacingly as he can.

 

“So, when do they turn? Full moon?”

 

“Yes, Stiles, they turn during the full moon like all the werewolves.” Derek rolls his eyes like Stiles is a really dumb kid. Stiles is justifiably affronted, those gammas seem to be doing everything differently, they could totally turn during the new moon instead. “Are we done now with the gamma lesson? I’m sure Dr Deaton has other things to do. So if we could sort out this problem …”

 

“Okay, okay. So, yeah, cool, more wolves for you. I don’t get where the problem is, though. If they’re quiet kids that just turn during the full moon but are much weaker than you, you won’t have any problem controlling them if they try to eat random citizen, right? And they still expand the pack; which in turn gives you more power to fight the Alpha pack. If we have to fight the Alpha pack, because for now, they haven’t done anything except randomly leaving their marks here and there.” _And probably killed Boyd and Erica, yeah, okay_ , but he doesn’t say that because they don’t know, they just vanished without a trace; maybe they found a way to leave the Hale territory without stumbling on the Alphas, he doubts it but it’s still a possibility. “We don’t even know how many they are or what they want.” _Except putting a serious dent in the deer population of the preserve and terrorizing us by scenting and marking places in Beacon Hills and always managing to not leave a trail afterward. Damnit!_

 

“Exactly! We don’t know! That’s the problem!” Derek explodes.

 

Deaton sighs.

 

“What Derek is trying to say, is that bringing in gammas will definitely draw the alphas attention. And probably push them into attacking, at the very least, to steal the gammas.” The doc explains calmly. Too calmly for Stiles’ comfort.

 

“But why?” Scott asks, a whine tainting his voice.

 

“Yeah, why? As you make them sound, they don’t seem much valuable to a pack.” Jackson has a point there (even if he sounds like a petulant jerk-face), but Isaac beats Stiles into asking the next question.

 

“What are you not telling us? There’s more to it, right?”

 

“There’s a hell of a lot more, but we’re not doing this now.” Derek answers his betas curtly, staring them down even as he is still sitting and they are all standing higher than him. They all shrink onto themselves, including Stiles. He turns a serious and intense gaze to the man sitting across from him before speaking again, “I’ll take them. We don’t have a choice since they’re already in a plane and there’s no other pack in this part of California. I’ll do my best to protect them, but you have to know it won’t take long for the Alpha pack to realize what they are. And then…”

 

“I know. Thank you, Derek.” Deaton sounds relieved and defeated at the same time. “Their plane lands tomorrow at 8 am.” A sense of imminent doom lands on Stiles shoulders.

 

“Bring them directly here. I’ll have to scent-mark them as soon as possible.”

 

Deaton nods and without another word, he gets up and leave.

 

As soon as the wolves hear the front door close behind the veterinarian, the kitchen explodes in questions, grunts and protestations as if the deference the betas showed their Alpha is only meant to last in front of a guest. Derek growls and flashes his red eyes at the teenagers but only the three betas shut up and Stiles keeps on rambling half questions half theories. The Alpha sighs, slumped shoulders and elbows on the table, he pinches the bridge of his nose with one hand and massages his temple with the other. Peter observes the scene with his head cocked to the side and his always present amused smirk.

 

“Peter, give Stiles the book,” Derek orders his un-dead uncle without lifting his head. “Everybody, go home,” he pauses and then gestures in Isaac direction still without lifting his head, “or to your room. Be here tomorrow morning.”

 

“But…”

 

“Now!”

 

***

 _‘The book’,_ as Stiles sadly discovers when he gets home and sits cross-legged on his bedroom floor with it balanced on his knees, is not a Gamma handbook, nor is it an ‘Everything you wanted to know about gammas without daring to ask’ book. It is an old, big, leather bound book that smells as much like decay and smoke as the Hale house before renovation. The top left corner is charred, which makes turning the pages a perilous adventure. Two symbols are impressed on the cover, the first one he recognizes easily since he sees it constantly on Derek’s back (seriously, is the guy allergic to shirts?) but the triangle in the middle is unfilled and the second symbol is engraved just there and looks suspiciously like a 'ɣ'. Of course, there is no index of any sort and no table of contents, neither at the beginning nor at the end. Well, it looks like Stiles is going to have to look into the thing old burned page by old burned page. And, _oh, joy (yes, that’s sarcasm, he’s allowed to be sarcastic in his own head)_! Judging by the dated paragraphs and the scrawl, it’s a diary.  He pops a prescribed speed pill and starts on page one. At least, it doesn’t start with _‘Dear diary’_ or any variant of the sort. Small victory.

 

***

 

It is around ten in the morning when Stiles parks his jeep in front of the Hale house and in spite of the choking heat all he can think about is having another cup of coffee. He stopped counting them when he emptied the second coffee pot in his own kitchen twenty minutes ago – he isn’t sure his stomach is going to forgive him.

Jackson’s Porsche is already there alongside Derek’s Camaro and Scott’s bike is leaning precariously against the newly renovated front porch.

 

He takes a minute to admire the work they’ve done on the house all summer long. On the outside, there isn’t any trace left of the fire. The remains of the roof weren’t salvageable and the wolves have torn down the few lingering tiles before they completely rebuilt it. Inside, the insulation has been repaired where needed and all the woodwork has been strengthened. The floors are now safe to walk on without fear of contracting tetanus or landing one or two levels underneath and even the stairs aren’t jeopardy on the lives of the two humans of the pack anymore. The windows have been replaced and most of the rooms on the three floors are done, though except the three used by Derek, Peter and Isaac as bedrooms and the library, they are bare of any furniture. On the ground floor, the large kitchen is brand new and they finished painting the living room the day before. There is a bathroom with actual working plumbing that almost brought Derek to tears when he made the hot water run in the shower for the first time. Electricity has been one of the first thing reinstalled and now all the teenagers are waiting for the cable and Internet connection eagerly.

Derek hasn’t said anything yet about the basement but Stiles doubts that either Hales are ready to breach the subject. Peter can’t even look at the door that leads to it.

 

It’s probably been the most productive summer break of his life so far and that’s a freaky thought considering they did all that under the threat of a pack full of Alphas looming around town. There is still two weeks left before school starts again but Stiles seriously doubts that they’re going to be as easy as the last month, what with the two Alpha-magnets joining their merry band of misfits.

 

 _Easy._ Stiles snorts at the thought. The beginning of summer had been anything but. The years before, when his life was simple, devoid of fanged supernatural creatures and their lethal wolfsbane-armed enemies, and consisted just of keeping him and Scott out of trouble as much as possible while still distracting his hyperactive mind, fretting about his Dad’s eating habits, drooling after a certain strawberry blond goddess and maintaining his grades, he would already qualify the end of school year as hectic; he doesn’t know what he should call it this year. Cataclysmic? Yeah, it seems appropriate. He doesn’t like to think about it, because it always leaves him in a state of near panic and profound sadness.

 

“Stiles? Are you gonna come in?” Scott, standing on the porch, interrupts his thoughts before they manage to lead him into either a panic attack or a sobbing mess. God, he loves his best friend sometimes.

 

“Yeah, yeah. Better be some coffee left.” Stiles mutters before following the beta inside the house.

 

***

They have around two hours left before Deaton should arrive from Sacramento International Airport with the twins. Derek seems to think it’s enough time for a debriefing about correct protocol when welcoming new and strange pack members and preparing a suitable lunch for the pack and their guests but Stiles has a fuckton of questions and the most important one is “why the hell did you give _me_ what seems to be a cross between ‘The Gamma’s diaries’ and a Hale casebook?” He doesn’t formulate it quite like that and the answer (“because you like researching”) is not highly satisfying. Sure, he’s learnt quite a lot about gamma’s instinct and role within a pack but he also read through what looked like a huge part of the Hale pack history and though he accepted weeks ago that he was now part of the pack, he’s not completely comfortable with the idea of Derek and, by extension, Peter trusting him with such intimate details about their family. _Why him?_ The idea bugged him as soon as he’d closed the book and kept him awake almost till daybreak. That and the realization that the feeble balance they achieved during summer between all the pack members and the sense of comfort and belonging they built while restoring the house was probably about to get shattered either by the twin gammas themselves or by the unwelcomed attention they’ll bring to the pack. So, he didn’t sleep more than a few hours and he’s not in the best of mood and he’s maybe projecting a bit judging by the anxious frowns Scott is sending his way.

 

The four betas plus the two humans are sat around the large kitchen table while Derek gives his instructions perched on the kitchen counter.

 

“They’ll probably be overwhelmed. Try to stay calm. Even if you’re on edge because of the Alpha pack, remember that those two are not here to attack, provoke us or invade our territory. They’ll smell faintly like their Alpha, prior Alpha, I mean. Depending on when was the last time they’ve been scent-marked. Try to not get too bothered by it.”

 

“What do you mean by ‘scent-marked’? Is it a thing that an Alpha does with other wolves? Isn’t it something you’d do about a territory?” Lydia asks, seeming utterly confused. Stiles would be too if he hadn’t read all about it during the night.

 

“Usually not. Not with other wolves. But it’s common to scent-mark the humans in a pack to signal to other packs or lone wolves that they already belong to one and are protected.”

 

“Like territory.” Lydia deadpans.

 

“Yes. More or less.” Derek says shortly, visibly irritated to be interrupted during his speech. He must have practiced it.

 

“It’s a ‘paws off, the human’s mine’ signal.” Stiles helps.

 

“Okay. Let’s get over the fact that owning someone else is quite degrading and tell us why the gammas should be scent-marked then, since they’re wolves too.” Lydia pushes on.

 

“Camouflage!” Stiles, again, says helpfully. Derek nods with approval before scowling.

 

“The natural scent of a gamma is faint but really distinctive. I… the Alpha needs to cover it otherwise any omega or rival Alpha would recognize the gamma as one and either attack or steal them. If they’re scent-marked by the Alpha, who’s got a stronger scent than the other wolves, they can pass as human.”

 

“Okay, makes sense. Sort of. Then why did you never scent-mark me and Stiles?”

 

“Because _you_ are already scent-marked enough by Jackson,” Derek answers, seeming vaguely disgusted while Jackson looks smug, “and I never needed to mark Stiles. Before, he wasn’t part of my pack. Scott should have been the one marking him,” the Alpha glowers at Scott like he made a huge error, “and after, when the Alpha pack manifested their presence, it would have been foolish to signal him as pack.”

 

Scott scowls. “Because it would have been like painting a giant target on his back.” The ‘and you’re not strong enough to protect him, just like I wasn’t’ was hugely implied. Yeah, the two of them still got issues.

 

“Exactly.” Derek concedes and eyes Stiles’ t-shirt skeptically, the one with the big bull’s-eye target printed on the front.

 

“But now …?” Stiles squeaks, because there’s a ‘but now’. Stiles can sense it and he doesn’t like it. Not at all. Because for all he’s read about humans and gammas being scent-marked, he hasn’t stumbled on a ‘how’. Not once. And if it entails Derek do to him what Jackson does to Lydia or what Scott used to do to Allison…  Or worse, how dogs scent-mark their territory… Stiles can’t help a shudder. He feels a little nauseous too; he’s afraid he can’t blame it all on the bitter coffee he drank this morning.

 

“Calm down,” Derek tells him, catching on his heart beating the samba, eyebrows furrowed, “we’ll talk about the procedure later.” It’s not helping.

 

Peter smirks.

 

“Hang on, what now? You’re going to scent-mark Stiles too?” Scott asks, his face doing a weird cross between ‘confused puppy’ and ‘disgusted kid who just realized his parents have a sex life’. It would be kind of hilarious if Stiles wasn’t freaking out at the mental image of Derek anointing him with bodily fluids.

 

“Yes, I have to. Because I’m pretty sure the Alphas have figured out by now that he’s pack and it would be suspicious if I scent-marked two new humans and not the one already in the pack.” Derek explains, visibly trying to contain himself over the fact that the speech he’d prepared was now ruined by multiple interruptions and digressions. He’s also doing a poor job of hiding that he thinks that all those things shouldn’t have to be explained. Or he isn’t even trying.

 

“It’s the second time you mention an Alpha would want to _‘steal’_ a gamma,” Isaac says, fingers in the air to mime the quotation marks, completely ignoring – on purpose because Isaac is never oblivious to others’ emotions (unlike a certain best friend who’s name starts with an S and ends with a double T) – Derek’s apparent distress over the loss of control of the pre-welcome party lecture, “but you still haven’t told us what makes them so valuable.”

 

“If Stiles did his homework correctly, which I assume he did, otherwise he would be the one asking all these questions, he should be able to answer with one of his highly entertaining phrasing.” Peter is the one to intervene. Derek sends a ‘shut up or I’ll claw your vocal chords out, again’ glare at his resurrected uncle but then looks at Stiles expectantly with a ‘by all means, entertain us and show me you understood the centuries old book I trust you with’ eyebrow-raise. Stiles has never seen this eyebrow-expression before; he needs to take note. Damn, it’d be easier to reference Derek’s faces if he could take instantaneous pictures. Too bad Matt is dead, because he’s sure he would have find a way to suppress or at least minimize the lens flare caused by those wolfy eyes. Uh, no. He’ll take the art class and learn the fine art of sketching when school starts again because the evocation of Matt makes Stiles’ heart squeeze uncomfortably in his chest and now he remembers being helpless watching his dad being knocked unconscious by his psycho schoolmate.

Someone clears their throat. Oh, yes. Question has been asked. Stiles should answer.

 

“They’re Alpha factories!” He blurts out when he sees every wolf and a strawberry blond head have turned to him.

 

There’s a beat of silence and then Peter snorts.

 

“What?” Isaac, Jackson and Lydia ask in chorus and in varying tones of confusedness.

 

“Dude, did you forget to take your Adderall again?” Scott already has his nose in the air to smell the medicine that should be leaking out of his pores.

 

“No, I mean, the reason all Alphas want a piece of gamma ass for themselves is because they’re literally baby Alpha makers. Which means an Alpha would be guaranteed that their pack’s next Alpha would be from their bloodline. It’s basic genetic greediness, like the royalty, dude!”

 

“Can we have the less entertaining but maybe more comprehensible and scientifically friendly version, please?” Lydia addresses Derek.

 

“Werewolves, Lydia. I’m pretty sure there’s nothing scientifically friendly there!” Stiles is offended and a bit disappointed by Lydia’s lack of judgment on this point. It’s probably temporary; she must be baffled by his badass way with words there. He’s got skills, and even Lydia can be awed stupid by it sometimes.

 

“He’s right. Gammas, for all they seem weak and useless, are an asserted way to abide a strong bloodline. They’re the only werewolves, if mated to an Alpha, that can produce children already gifted with Alpha abilities. That’s why they are so valuable and coveted.” Derek’s explanation sounds in no way like something he’d improvised. Stiles is pretty convinced now that the Alpha spends hours in front of his mirror rehearsing his speeches. If only he could convince Isaac to hide a camera in his bedroom. For blackmailing material, only! Ugh… Not for anything frisky, promise!

 

“Now, imagine what it would mean for an Alpha pack to put their hands on one.” Uncle un-dead concludes. Stiles shivers as he feels the sense of impending doom settling in his bones.

 

***

 

 

“Stay on the porch. I’ll tell you when you can come closer. Keep calm.”  Derek repeats for the umpteenth time as he walks outside and down the three stairs of said porch. Deaton’s Prius has just appeared up the driveway in front of the house. It’s rare to see the doctor behind a wheel and not riding his motorcycle these days; somehow it makes the situation all the more surreal. The car stops on the side of the gravel driveway since all the parking spots are taken. The veterinarian gets off the vehicle and rounds it. He seems to hesitate before opening the passenger’s door and he glances quickly at Derek who nods stiffly and makes a show of not coming closer.

 

Deaton finally opens the door but the figure inside doesn’t move; probably waiting for their uncle to tell them it’s okay. Deaton doesn’t say anything though. Instead he moves on to the back door and opens it too. Stiles can’t really listen to a conversation from this distance but he can see the man’s lips move shortly and then a giant fluffy, grey beast jumps out of the car. The thing is easily the size of a small pony – okay, maybe a bit less, but really, it’s huge. “Oh, wow.” Stiles gasps and gets glared at by Isaac. Stiles glares right back – really, he’s getting tired of Isaac’s perfect Beta act. Derek said ‘keep calm’ not ‘stop breathing’.

 

Distracted by the glaring match, Stiles misses the moment the two kids finally extract themselves from the car. They’re now standing close together beside the car, behind Deaton and the giant dog. And well, ‘kids’ is probably not the most accurate word. And when Deaton said yesterday that his nephew and niece were ‘a couple of Gamma kids in need of a pack’, he could have maybe specified their age because even if Stiles had calculated that the ‘kids’ must have been over 3 when their mother died and under 18 now… okay, well he didn’t manage to reduce the frame, but he totally imagined they would be around 10 years old. They’re not. And based on the angle all the other teens’ heads have tipped, he’s not the only one to be a bit surprised. Only Peter doesn’t seem nonplussed – and Derek is probably wearing his usual blank but frowny face but Stiles only sees the back of his head from the porch – so he must have had more information on Dr Deaton’s family status.

 

The pair of teenagers is growing tenser minutely as Derek takes a step in their direction. The twins are standing now shoulder to shoulder, clutching each other’s hand between them. Stiles can’t really distinguish much of their faces from afar but he can already tell they’re beautiful and he is somehow confirmed in his idea that it’s a distinct characteristic of lycanthropy. And as all beautiful people, they’re dressed all in black. He’s about to make a smart comment regarding werewolves and their love of dark clothes when he remembers that a) he’s not supposed to show any sign of aggression (be it by snarking his way through it instead of a more toothy show like his wolfy companions) and b) more importantly, those two teenagers are only a few days out of the death of all their family and they’re probably wearing black attires simply because they’re mourning. He doesn’t feel so smart now.

 

Peter is standing right behind Stiles shoulder and the teenager jumps a bit when the man murmurs directly in his ear. “Look. Next part might be reminiscent of something you’ve already seen.”

 

Before Stiles can ask what he means, the hound is trotting candidly towards Derek. It stops when there’s only one foot left between them and it starts sniffing the air around the Alpha. Stiles remarks the sudden stiffness in its attitude only because he’s looking closely at the scene. The giant dog then takes three cautious steps backwards and drops to the ground; Stiles can’t see well its eyes hidden behind its bangs but he’s sure they never leave the Alpha in front of him. Its ears are pulled back though, as if listening to something behind them.

 

“Oh. How cute is that? Look, the dog is lying down at Derek’s feet already.” Scott coos. The other teenagers tip their heads to the side in a very lost puppy demeanor.

 

Stiles rolls his eyes and in his peripheral vision he can see Peter shaking his head. Scott is a clueless idiot; it’s a bit alarming when you think he’s the one working as help in a veterinary office (and is a werewolf!) that he can’t read canine body language. And Peter is right; it is something Stiles has already witnessed. Many times. At least once a year, when he goes to see the K9 unit’s demonstration with his dad. _Three cautious steps back; sit down if it smells explosive, crouch down if it smells (unstable) very explosive; don’t bark; don’t move; wait for the master’s order._ Yep, that’s a very well trained doggie. Stiles makes an educated guess and say it’s ‘crouch down’ for Alpha and ‘sit down’ for Beta.

 

The twins are shaking now and the dog is still crouched down in front of Derek. Deaton seems not yet alarmed, but a lot less calm than he usually looks.

 

“Uh oh.” Peter says as Stiles can feel all the betas tensing around him.

 

The hound doesn’t move, but its upper lip is pulled up to show impressive serrated fangs. Stiles doesn’t have super hearing, but he’d bet his Jeep that the dog is growling.

 

“The girl should have called her hound back by now. She’s too scared and he’s reacting to her fear but he won’t attack unless he’s ordered to, don’t worry.” Peter says in a soothing monochord voice. “Stay calm. Don’t move. Let Deaton talk her down.” And Stiles realizes that he’s not talking to him but to the other wolves and possibly to Derek who must be trying his damndest to not react to the dog baring its teeth at him.

 

Stiles can totally see why she would be scared. Her pack has been killed in front of her mere days ago by another pack and now there’s an unknown Alpha standing in front of her with his entire pack behind him and there’s a car at her back, blocking her way. The woods around her are unknown territory. She’s trapped. And the two twins are probably feeding each other’s fear.

 

“Maybe we should go back inside. Be less threatening?” Stiles suggests. He glances at his side when there’s no response. Peter seems conflicted but he’s by far the most relaxed of the pack. Jackson is trembling and Lydia has a death grip on his wrist. Stiles hopes the jock’s eyes aren’t flashing blue. Scott’s and Isaac’s stances are stiffer than usual but they don’t seem on the verge of wolfing out, so that’s good, at least.

 

“Okay, let’s retreat back inside. Slowly.” Peter finally says mostly to Stiles; he must have been waiting for Derek’s instructions, then.

 

***

As soon as the pack is inside the house, Derek can feel the tension in the air lessen a bit, not by much but enough for the girl to get a grip of herself and call back her hound. He needs to thank Stiles later; without his suggestion to get the pack inside they could have stayed facing each other for a very long time. With two quick snaps of the girl’s fingers, immediately the giant dog stands up and trots back to her mistress’ feet without even a glance back at Derek. He’s impressed to say the least. He’s heard a lot about the mythic Irish werewolves and their pairs of humans and hounds but he had never met any of them before. He also had never met a gamma that wasn’t part of his family; now he has two before him and he can’t deny the pull the Alpha in him feels towards them. It’s more powerful than he thought it would be and he hopes it’s not going to pose a problem. It’s not a real urge to claim and mate but he definitely feels the want to get them closer and into the folds of the pack. He prays it’s only because he consciously knows they are gammas and that when he concentrates on their scent he can almost detect the soft and sweet alluring smell of ripe apples that his brain associates with their status. One thing is sure it’s time for them to be thoroughly scent-marked before another Alpha catches it, because there is not much left of the scent of their belated Alpha on them.

 

Derek takes a few steps forward when he estimates the two teens had enough time to calm down. Deaton smiles at him genuinely and offers his hand to shake. Derek takes it.

 

“Derek, thank you for having us here.” The veterinarian sounds extremely relieved.

 

“Alan,” the Alpha nods, “it’s an honor.” And he’s surprised to realize he means it. He’s truly honored to be trusted enough, him and his pack, with the protection of not only one, but two gammas. Even if Deaton said yesterday that he didn’t have the luxury of choice when it came to packs in California, they both know that it’s not true; it’s not a good enough reason to gift a pack with two gammas. Gammas were so rare nowadays that any pack, anywhere, would have taken them in, even as damaged as they must be. And Derek is sure that a pack as big and old as the Fillans had multiple allies all around the world that even the poor humans left alive after the massacre knew about. He should ask Peter about it, but he thinks that even one of his own ancestors was part of that pack when it was still so big that it was a clan and its name was still spelled Fáelán.

 

“So, this is Alec and Anna,” Deaton says as he motions the kids forward, “and the big fluffy guy, here, is Tara,” he adds as he pats the big dog’s head. Two pairs of identical, big, slightly slanted, green eyes blink at Derek as the kids shuffle towards him timidly.

 

“Hi. I’m Derek,” he tries to produce an inviting, non-threatening smile, but he realizes they see through the fakeness of it when their heartbeats increase with fear. He stops baring his teeth and clears his throat. “I’m the Alpha of the Hale pack. Welcome. Shall we go meet the rest of the pack?” He doesn’t wait for any sort of response before he turns around and walks back the way he came. He grits his teeth and tries his best to ignore Peter’s sarcastic _‘Oh, dear nephew. Way to put them at ease. Let’s see if it’s salvageable’_ coming from inside the house he’s walking towards.


End file.
